


The Beguilement

by itstonedme



Series: Beguilement Verse [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: AU, M/M, sort drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-24
Updated: 2007-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-15 00:04:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itstonedme/pseuds/itstonedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.  Set in modern day Amsterdam.  Orlando is not an actor and neither is Elijah.  Part 1 of what eventually became a series.  Posted separately but linked within The Beguilement universe.</p>
<p>Originally posted on LJ November 2007 <a href="http://itstonedme.livejournal.com/4565.html#cutid1">here</a> with reader comments, and which displays the lovely banner created for me by Stormatdusk.</p>
<p>Disclaimer: A work of fiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beguilement

“Bombay tonic, “ the bartender says as he slides a hotel napkin in front of Orlando and sets down a short glass dressed with a twist of lime. Orlando loses the fruit and downs half the glass. 

It’s been a productive day here in Amsterdam – contract won, terms negotiated, reasonable delivery date. Orlando has logged his calls and emails with head office and made plans for a bit of a celebratory blow-out the next night. As for today, he has begged off dinner with his hosts so that he might unwind and walk the canalled streets before turning in early and catching the morning commuter flight home. He has yet to return to his room to change, so he slips the knot on his tie, pockets it and unbuttons the collar. 

He sees Elijah settle at the bar across from him the moment he looks up. He can’t help but stare, for the young man is strikingly beautiful and immaculately groomed in a finely cut navy suit, pocket handkerchief in place, lemon-hued silk tie lying perfectly over a crisply pleated shirt. He watches Elijah withdraw a case from the inside pocket, removing a cigarette and tapping it lightly. The bartender leans forward to light it, words passing between the two which leave Elijah laughing when he exhales. Their talk is easy and animated while Elijah’s drink is poured – Chopin, pulled straight from the freezer to a frosted shot glass – and it is only when the bartender moves away and Elijah lowers his glass that he finds Orlando watching him. 

It embarrasses Orlando to be caught looking, and he quickly casts about elsewhere, heat creeping into his cheeks. For all of twenty seconds he studies the lay of the room before being drawn back across the bar. 

Where he finds that he is now the one being watched. 

Elijah juts his chin and exhales long and slow, eyes fixed on Orlando. With unhurried acknowledgement, he tips his head, a small nod. 

Orlando’s breath catches, and he smiles quickly, unsurely. He knows he has been hooked and that it's just a matter now of letting Elijah reel him in. 

Elijah returns the smile and angles his head to the empty seat beside him. Collecting his drink, Orlando comes around the bar and slides onto the stool at Elijah’s left. 

Whatever faint scent Elijah is wearing goes directly to some place dark and hungry inside Orlando. He drinks it in slowly, then offers his hand. “Orlando,” he says, completely taken with how, up close, Elijah is even more captivating, if that is possible. 

Accepting the handshake, Elijah smiles, all poise and manners. “Orlando,” he murmurs, “My pleasure.” 

So this is how it will be, Orlando thinks, not averse to the possibility of an anonymous encounter and certainly not with someone who is quickly becoming far more intoxicating than the alcohol that seeps into his veins. 

His eyes float to Elijah’s hand. It is small and warm within his larger one, beautifully manicured and trimmed with a sharp cuff and gold link. Orlando’s thumb smooths near Elijah’s wrist and he finds himself looking at it, mesmerized by the porcelain fineness of bone and skin. Catching himself awkwardly, he lets go, looking into eyes that he only now realizes are a riveting blue, and slightly amused. “You’re American,” he stutters, at somewhat of a loss. 

“And you are English,” Elijah laughs, his smile growing. “I’m glad we’ve sorted that out.” 

Orlando blushes, which Elijah finds tremendously becoming. 

Orlando is rather unnerved by Elijah’s graceful composure and his own surprising lack of it. And he is at utter odds with not only how quickly he is allowing himself to be seduced by a stranger but how he so avidly craves it. “Can I buy you another drink?” he asks, signaling the bartender. 

Elijah counters by raising his hand, palm out, and the bartender retreats. “Orlando,” he says, “Forgive me if I am mistaken and far too frank, but there is something else we need to sort out. My price is 300 Euros. Two hours of whatever you desire. Would you wish it to be spent here in conversation?”

The smile and blush fall from Orlando’s face as they look at each other. “Oh,” he breathes, “I didn’t realize…”

“Orlando,” Elijah interrupts softly, tilting his head. “Do you want me?”

And the day’s success, the siren song curling hotly in his gut and this lovely young man with the come-hither eyes combine to inform Orlando how the dinner hour will unfold. “Yes,” he whispers, taking in the ripeness of Elijah’s lips. “Yes,” he repeats more firmly as their eyes meet.

“Mine or yours then?” Elijah asks, standing.

“Yours,” Orlando replies, and laying several bills on the bar top, they leave. 

*

“Easy, Orlando,” Elijah murmurs, ghosting his palm over the ink sun traversing Orlando’s stomach, pressing down gently. 

Orlando is splayed on his back, ass bolstered by a pillow and snugly impaled on Elijah’s trussed cock. Orlando’s cock is bound as well, turgid and glistening within the tight confines of the lemon-hued tie. It has been this way for most of the last hour, and right now, Orlando is hanging on to the merest wisp of the present. 

“We’re going to ride this just a little longer,” Elijah says as he rubs calming circles, spreading his fingers flat and thumbing the furry trail leading down from Orlando’s navel. 

Orlando exhales long and slow, a shuddery breath that’s interrupted with hitching gasps. His eyes drift to Elijah’s face, lids fluttering as he struggles to keep focused. 

Elijah continues his slow thrusts, scorching Orlando’s prostate on every inbound stroke. An oiled right hand palms Orlando’s purpling cock, cushioning the head on each upward pass where the steady leak of cum eases the glide back down. Abandoning his orbits around the sun tattoo, Elijah places both hands on Orlando’s cock, gathering moisture, sliding one hand down to bathe the angry red balls in smooth wetness, gathering more of it from where their bodies slide in union, returning to run his fingers and palm over the tightening balls again.

Orlando’s gaze drifts once more to the side. He is lost to anything that lies beyond his pelvis and the ache that keeps building there in heat and color. His breathing has become shallow, a useless attempt to keep from adding to the pressure melting his hips into the mattress. He’s begun to jerk upwards, chasing phantom orgasms that never arrive. Black nova are starting to dance before his eyes. 

“I need to come,” he whispers, no air to give the words merit. It becomes a desperate, breathless mantra that punctuates each thrust: “I need to come, I need to come…” 

Elijah stills and gazes at Orlando. For a moment, he thinks he might have run things a little far. “Okay,” he says gently. He tugs the tie binding Orlando’s cock and tosses it loosely aside.

Orlando locks at mid-arch. Convulses with a grunt.

It’s been months since Orlando’s been bedded by anyone, so things have built up a little. The first shot arcs high on his chest, pooling in the hollow of his collar bone. The next washes his sternum, and then, in diminishing returns, he pumps onto his stomach, onto the inked sun and finally nothing, just spasming in exquisite futility. 

Pulling Orlando further onto his hips to keep him close, Elijah leans over him and licks a stripe across his throat, cleaning him like a cat. He tastes a salty temple and kisses an eyelid shut, watching as it flutters open again. He licks Orlando’s cheek, the raspy hairs of sweat-streaked goatee, laps at the hollow of his neck. Hands planted either side of Orlando’s head, he studies his face. “Heh,” he whispers, and runs a thumb over Orlando’s bottom lip.

Orlando is pushing back to the surface, struggling to bend the borders of black circling his vision. But listening to the crash of his heartbeat, he finds it far too enticing to abandon his blissful interior for anything as removed as the world surrounding him, even if Elijah’s in it. He feels a hand creep under his cheek to cradle it and turn his head forward. He hears his name, sees a face, but it means little.

He hears his name again, sees lips moving and recognition filters in. “Oh,” he breathes. A cheek brushes against his.

“Come inside me,” he pleads, arching toward an ear, exhausted from so many words.

“Orlando, that’s not necessary.” 

“I…want…” but words continue to fail.

Elijah pulls back, still cupping Orlando’s cheek, considering very carefully. He straightens up, taking his heat with him, and Orlando’s eyes float shut as he shivers. 

Elijah reaches between his legs and pulls loose the tie that holds him in check. Placing Orlando’s boneless arms on the pillow, he hooks one hand on the headboard, the other braced next to Orlando’s head and starts a slow pumping assault. 

He doesn’t often come with clients. They don’t usually care that he doesn’t, since his pleasure isn’t what they are paying for. And he prefers to keep business and pleasure distinctly separate. It’s all about restraint, and he takes care of himself afterwards, if it seems necessary. 

Now, as he stares intently at Orlando, reading the vacancy there, feeling the trembling sensitivity gripping him and not wishing to push him too much further, Elijah wants to finish this quickly. He has no wish to rob Orlando of everything that has come before by working him any harder. So he lets the electric slide of their bodies focus his desire.

And really, gazing down upon this man, it isn’t that Elijah can’t find desire readily enough. Orlando is so easy and willing and so very wanting of him. Elijah hasn’t had to engage in any fuck talk with Orlando, hasn’t needed hot meaningless words to turn him on like he does with other clients. Orlando brings his hunger to the table, so to speak. With every slow stroke Elijah now takes, Orlando is softly arching to meet him, no thought involved, only carnal instinct. Orlando has invited him to come, on Elijah’s own terms, however he chooses to make it happen. If Elijah wishes to fantasize that this is someone else, that would be okay too. But he doesn’t think he will have to.

And he is surprised that it takes far less time to feel the heat and pressure start to roll through his pelvis, down his thighs, up his abdomen, than he had at first thought. Perhaps it is the still-lingering remnants of Orlando’s own orgasm that move Elijah closer. Perhaps it is the occasional twitch of Orlando’s softening cock when Elijah looks down to see it lying in its pool of drying cum next to the sun. Surely it is the sheer beauty of the guy and his brilliant responsiveness to everything Elijah does. 

So he sinks into his climax and into Orlando’s sticky warmth. And the trembling “yeah” breathed into his ear when he comes, panting against Orlando’s damp curls, reminds him that he is very pleased he dropped into the hotel bar today.

*

“Would you let me stay tonight?” 

“I’ve got appointments, Orlando.”

“What’s it take to get rid of them?”

Elijah is perched on the edge of the bed, rubbing the crick in his wrist. “A grand,” he says casually.

“Do it. Please.”

Elijah lifts his gaze, looking back to Orlando for a moment, then stands, unfolding effortlessly as he walks towards the doorway. He snags a rayon robe hanging from the wing of a wrought iron cheval mirror and disappears into the living room. 

Orlando drifts back into a peaceful reverie, the sounds of the street and the song of city birds wafting through the french doors leading to the balcony. His bones have become leaden; he can shift with effort but nothing so laborious as lifting his head or a knee. He starts to nod off, hears Elijah’s low voice from the other room, apparently on a mobile because the sound keeps moving. 

He awakens a while later to a weight dipping the mattress beside him. The room is a little darker, the sun having moved behind neighbouring buildings as it slowly drops towards the horizon. Elijah has returned to sit on the edge the bed, naked again. He’s placed a ceramic wash basin on the bedside table and is soaking a cloth. He wrings it and shifts a little closer to Orlando, leaning over him to bring the cloth to his forehead. He starts wiping his face gently, first the brow and forehead, pushing deep into the hairline. His fingers spear the soft terry, dipping fully into the nooks of Orlando’s features, the inside corners of his closed eyes, the whorls of his ears, the creases of his mouth. He refreshes the cloth, lifts Orlando’s head to wipe the nape of his neck, his shoulders, each long and boneless arm, each armpit.

“I could get up and shower,” Orlando offers wearily.

“This is fine,” Elijah says. 

And Orlando agrees that it is. He rather likes how Elijah is moving and shaping him, is enjoying the plush softness of the warm cloth, the coolness on his skin after it passes. Elijah’s touch is incredibly light, his ministrations incredibly thorough. He misses nothing, catches every crevice of Orlando’s navel, every fold of his cock and balls, each crease of his groin, firm long strokes down his thighs, his calves.

“Mind the feet,” Orlando murmurs as Elijah dips between each toe. “I’m ticklish.”

“Mmm,” Elijah acknowledges.

When he is done with his front, Elijah tells Orlando to roll over and begins anew on his back. Orlando snags his arms under the pillow, turning his head towards the far wall and drifts some more.

He awakens to the smell of something exotically fragrant, then feels Elijah’s palms stroking firmly along his neck, traps, shoulders, thumbs pressing into tight muscles, untying knots Orlando didn’t know were tied.

“What’s that?” he sighs.

“Something to cool you. You’re smelling freesia,” Elijah says, moving to kneel beside Orlando so that he can better work his back. Orlando thinks Elijah has incredibly strong hands given his slightness. There’s nothing sexual about how he’s unbundling the tension in Orlando’s body, just firm pressure, smooth glide, rhythmic kneading over his back, his butt, his thighs and calves.

Elijah traces the scar on Orlando’s back with an index finger, smooths over it gently with the heel of his hand. “How did you get this?”

“I fell.”

“Must have been a fucking impressive fall.” He fingers it again.

“It was.” 

Orlando rolls onto his back so that he can look at Elijah, signaling the end of the massage. He strokes the mattress between them. “Lie with me,” he says.

Elijah slips down and Orlando guides him so that Elijah’s turned away from him towards the balcony, back snug to chest, his head nestled against Orlando’s lips. Orlando draws a deep breath, smelling the appley shampoo lingering in Elijah’s damp hair from the shower he took while Orlando slept. He slips an arm under the pillow to bolster both of their heads, wrapping an arm loosely around Elijah’s chest, one leg draped over Elijah’s thigh. “Mmmm,” he exhales, long and slow, thoroughly content, a smile curling the corners of his mouth. 

Elijah waits, letting Orlando decide next steps. If they are to sleep, he’ll sleep. If they are to fuck, he’ll fuck, although he doesn’t think that’s on the menu right now, gauging the limp, relaxed posture of Orlando’s cock resting against the cheeks of his ass.

Carefully choosing how he thinks he should phrase this, Orlando says, “So what can I call you?” wondering what the protocol is among the street trade, supposing that he’ll get a lie.

“My name’s Elijah.”

Orlando finds that biblical enough to think it might be true. If not, it has its own charm that satisfies.

All of a sudden Orlando feels ravenous. Lunch was a long time ago. “Do you feel like getting something to eat, Elijah?” 

“Could do.”

They get up, one following the other out of bed. Elijah plucks a second robe draped atop a teak screen and passes it to Orlando. He wraps himself in his own and hunts down his mobile phone.

They order in Thai and beer from an eatery down the block because it’s handy, and while they wait for it to arrive, Elijah takes to lighting candles throughout the rooms, settling each inside a glass chimney to protect against the warm breezes wafting the draperies about. Once the delivery has been and gone, they settle on cushions beside a glass-and-rattan coffee table, forgoing any plates and sharing right from the containers.

The conversation centers around Orlando’s business in town, the new home he’s building for himself and travel in general. Orlando finds that safe enough. He doesn’t know if he wants to learn about Elijah’s particular career arc, nor is he all that comfortable asking. It seems too personal, oddly enough, considering how they’ve spent the last two hours. So Orlando talks and Elijah listens, and by the second beer, Elijah has rolled a joint to finish the meal. They smoke it on the bedroom balcony overlooking the canal and the street, falling into relaxed silences.

“How long are you in town?” Elijah asks when Orlando returns from the bathroom.

“I’ve a flight out tomorrow morning.”

Elijah turns towards him, quirks a smile. “Then time’s a-wasting,” he laughs.

“Yeah,” Orlando chuckles. He hesitates a beat before leaning in to kiss Elijah. Soft lips brush his, move away, then dip in again, parting just a bit to allow a hint of tongue and the aroma of pot to lick against Orlando’s top lip. Orlando sighs.

“Come to bed,” Elijah says and moves to the balcony door. Orlando gazes one more time at the waning skyscape, the quiet street outside with bicyclists and pedestrians coming and going, before turning to go inside.

Elijah has stripped and lies languidly across the turned down sheets, and Orlando thinks, not for the first time, that Elijah must have been breathed to life from a Renaissance fresco, pale satiny skin bronzed by the candlelight, lips parted and eyes hooded. An arm rests outstretched and palm up towards Orlando. With the barest of movement, Elijah curls his fingers inwards once, slow and invitingly. He touches himself quietly with his other hand, a light stroke of fingers along his semi-hard cock.

Orlando tosses his robe across the foot of the bed and crawls over Elijah on hands and knees, stopping mid-transit to gaze down at him. Their eyes lock. Orlando is so fucking buzzed he can’t see anything but Elijah and the candlelight, and he’s definitely starting to live in the moment. He registers the press of Elijah’s thigh against his knee, the creeping spider tracks up his chest as Elijah raises his hand to find Orlando’s nipple. Elijah teases it to hardness with his thumb, fingers resting against the side of Orlando’s chest, never breaking his gaze. Orlando dips down again, finding Elijah’s smoky mouth, sliding softly inside before moving to kiss his cheek, his brow, the fluttering shut spheres of his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, the sweetness of his jaw as Elijah arches his neck. He pulls back and Elijah’s eyes lift open again to meet his.

Orlando descends once more, this time to Elijah’s offered throat, nuzzling it with butterfly kisses, around to his ear and the rabbity light pulse beneath. He keeps moving downwards, shifting onto his elbows to brace beside Elijah’s chest, lowering his hips between Elijah’s legs which spread to cradle him. He rests his cheek against Elijah’s breast, flicking a dusky nipple to hardness with his tongue and thumb, content to play there for a while. Elijah looks down at Orlando, runs a hand across the back of his shoulders and neck and attempts to inch down. 

Orlando splays a hand across Elijah’s throat, lightly but firmly holding him back. 

“Orlando, wait,” Elijah starts, but Orlando’s draws his forearm across Elijah’s collar bone and presses down gently.

“Don’t move,” he breathes. “We’re on my coin here, Elijah. This is what I want.”

Elijah drops his head back on the pillow and moans. Orlando likes how the sound reverberates against his ear and returns his attention to Elijah’s nipple. 

Elijah is somewhat confused. The hungry fire beginning to burn in his plexus is not something he is at all used to when working, not when it’s his client servicing him instead of the other way around. And Christ Almighty, but isn’t this becoming less like a fuck and more like Orlando wants to make love to him? Elijah is not used to generosity on the job and wishes he wasn’t so high because he’s not reading the situation as well as he might, not making adjustments where they’re needed, instead folding too easily to the wet caresses being poured upon him. He draws a deep breath and starts to regroup.

“That feels so good, Orlando,” he whispers smokily, fingering the silky curls behind Orlando’s ear. “Your mouth is so fucking hot on me.”

Orlando lifts his head and casts a pot-glazed look to Elijah. “No words,” he says. He wants Elijah to abandon himself for just a little while, to put aside his bag of whorish tricks and dirty john talk, to just take for a change. Orlando returns to lick at Elijah’s other nipple while Elijah gets it and sighs, pulling into himself. 

Orlando is quite content to simply lick Elijah into a runaway train wreck. He inches his tongue over his ribs, down the steep slope to Elijah’s navel, sampling the slightly bitter taste of lotion, kissing over to the strange etchings tattooed near his pelvic bone. He flicks his tongue along thin skin towards the crease of Elijah’s groin, enjoying how the flesh jumps beneath his lips. Elijah’s knees pull up a little and then fall open to the mattress, exposing him fully. 

“Jesus, you turn out like a fucking dancer,” Orlando whispers, marveling at the hyperextension of Elijah’s hip joints, the wanton imagery of it.

Orlando rests his cheek against the tattoo and softly grips Elijah’s shaft. He thumbs the sensitive little tuck of skin beneath the head of Elijah’s cock, caught up in coaxing the small droplet he sees making its way out onto the tip.

Elijah tries to arch up but Orlando’s head and arm have him pinned. He groans and slides his hands up under the pillow, eyes closed. 

Orlando licks away the pre-come, eliciting a soft grunt from Elijah, and mouths down the length of his cock, then his puckered balls. Elijah has started to draw long breaths through his nose to steady his rising heart rate. He’s a master at suppression and control, at keeping all the grunts and moans of fucking perfectly orchestrated. Except, he’s beginning to realize, right now. 

Orlando drops down so that he is now between the one-eighty of Elijah’s thighs. He grips the back of Elijah’s knees and draws them forward and up so that he can more easily expose Elijah’s ass. He flicks his tongue lightly along the crease before applying a firmer swipe, then spears the opening slowly with his tongue, his lips wetly mouthing the whole area. 

“Oh fuck, _fuck!_ ” Elijah shouts, twisting against the pillow, a leg jerking under Orlando’s firm grip. He can’t remember the last time a john rimmed him. In fact, he’s sure this might be a first. Minutes pass this way, slowly and luxuriously between generous licks and deep probing strokes, and Elijah is in heaven. 

After a while, Orlando eases Elijah’s legs back down and blindly snags a pillow from the head board. “Turn,” he says, guiding Elijah towards him so that his cock is at eye level. Bunching the pillow under his head for support and hooking Elijah’s thigh over his shoulder, Orlando takes him into his mouth.

Elijah’s hand finds Orlando’s hair, spiraling curls around his fingers. 

While Elijah briefly thinks that he can give a better blow job, he finds Orlando is not without talent. What he lacks in depth he more than makes up for in technique. His tongue is at once pillowy and writhing, his suck strong enough to pull Elijah’s spine right through his pelvis. 

Easing two fingers into his mouth while he gives head, Orlando wets them generously before tracing them down the crack of Elijah’s ass. He slowly pushes them inside in increments, stroking in and out until he is in to the second knuckle. He’s not surprised to find Elijah already moist there, having prepared himself earlier while Orlando slept. Orlando twists until a slight jerk into his mouth and a quick groan lets him know he’s hit pay dirt.

Watching his cock slide into Orlando’s imaginative mouth, Elijah would be perfectly content to spend the next hour this way, so relaxed and unhurried are the motions. But a radiant heat has started to pool in his groin and when Orlando nestles the fingers of his free hand around Elijah’s balls, it starts to wash through him in rising waves. He stills his fingers and flattens his palm against Orlando’s head.

“Wait, Orlando,” he whispers breathlessly. “I’m going to come.” 

Orlando can feel Elijah’s balls begin to tighten. He moves his hand up to wrap around Elijah’s wrist, stilling it, not breaking the steady slide of his mouth. 

“Orlando, wait,” Elijah says more urgently, the fingers deep in his ass pushing him towards release.

Orlando’s fingers leave his wrist and grasp Elijah’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly, granting permission.

When he comes, Elijah’s thigh tightens against Orlando’s shoulder, heel tapping staccato against his back, hips surging forward into the heat of the Orlando’s mouth. Elijah is very quiet otherwise, just a series of soft pants and moans and shudders. 

Neither of them moves until the pulses die out and Elijah begins to soften in Orlando’s mouth. Then Orlando releases him, snuffling his nose into Elijah’s pubic hair and drawing in the sweet smell of freesia. He tips his head back to look up at Elijah, who strokes his cheek.

“I’m fucking speechless, man,” Elijah murmurs, his eyes bright and a puzzled smile quirking the edge of his lips. He forces Orlando to close one eye when he runs a thumb over his eyelashes.

This isn’t news to Orlando. He finds Elijah not much of a talker anyway. He leans in to kiss the odd-lettered tattoo, then lifts Elijah’s leg from his shoulder and turns him onto his back.

“Good,” he smiles wickedly. “Because there will be more.” He shifts to the edge of the bed and swings his feet onto the floor, cock hard and lying heavy across a thigh. “But first, I need to visit the loo.” Standing up, he looks to the bedside table. “I’ll need something oily when I get back.” 

When Orlando returns from freshening his face, he finds Elijah rolled onto his side, watching. His hand is wrapped around a small unlidded porcelain jar. Orlando slips in behind him, running his arm under Elijah’s head to pillow it and drawing him back along his chest with his other arm. He reaches across to the jar, dipping a finger into the pearly ointment and draws it to his nose, inhaling its bland, slightly lineny smell. Rubbing finger against thumb, the glide is glycerin-smooth, covering the skin like satin. “This is nice,” he says. Taking more, he pulls his hips back a little and coats his cock and Elijah’s crease, finger-painting him from his balls back, sliding in a finger, then two, then three with little resistance. Elijah relaxes into the mattress, offering his ass a little more to Orlando’s probing fingers. He reaches to place the jar on the bedside table before searching under the pillow and catching Orlando’s resting hand in his. He sighs, long and shuddery, before closing his eyes.

Orlando slides into him effortlessly and wraps his arm around Elijah’s waist to pull him closer. Calves and thighs aligned to mirror each other. Lying side by side, they start a slow in-out rhythm. 

Orlando’s lips brush Elijah’s ear. “Lijah,” he whispers.

“Hmm.”

“I think we ruined your beautiful silk tie.”

Elijah chuckles and arches his back just a fraction and clenches so that Orlando tightens the grip around his waist. 

“I have others.”

“But it was not a cheap tie,” Orlando murmurs.

“That’s because I’m not a cheap trick,” Elijah smiles cockily.

Orlando turns in and kisses behind his ear. “No, indeed you are not.” 

Elijah is enjoying the pillow talk and snuggles his head further into the crook of Orlando’s shoulder, turning his face so that their noses bump and lips nudge. He slides his tongue along the part of Orlando’s mouth. He’s pretty much given himself up to the languorous change of pace this trick is affording him. Orlando dips in so that the angle of their mouths is a little more complete and despite it still being messy, neither of them seems much to mind. They slide around at both ends for a while, fucking and sucking each other, lashes and noses batting away, hips rotating in leisurely grinds. Finally Orlando draws his mouth back to Elijah’s ear.

“We’re moving,” he says. “Hang on.”

He grips Elijah firmly around the waist, drawing his other arm down to capture Elijah’s chest. Holding him close, he rolls onto his back, Elijah coming with him, head falling back over Orlando’s shoulder. Orlando draws his knees up between Elijah’s thighs and scoops several pillows under their heads and shoulders for support.

“Do that thing with your legs,” he breathes into Elijah’s ear.

Elijah spreads wide, eyes flashing from the sudden change of position, and slides his heels under Orlando’s thighs.

“You are so fucking hot when you open like that,” Orlando groans, pushing up into him. He grips Elijah’s cock with one hand, fingers still smooth from coating himself earlier, and cups his balls with the other. 

Elijah arches at the hands being laid on him. He turns his face against Orlando’s, panting softly. “Ah fuck,” he moans, hardness beginning to return to his cock. 

“Yeah,” Orlando agrees, pushing his heels against the mattress so that the two of them can slide further up the pillows to better his angle for looking down Elijah’s body at where his hands are stroking him. His thumb and finger have formed a circle that he slides and twists around the head of Elijah’s cock, his long fingers and large palm pulling the loose skin of the shaft that is rapidly filling and thickening. Elijah has taken to moaning and writhing his hips to meet Orlando’s small thrusts. They have little room for movement in this position, just enough for sharp little pushes, but Elijah’s tight heat pleasures Orlando sufficiently and allows him to keep a handle on the level of his arousal. 

“I don’t know what it is,” Orlando muses against Elijah’s ear. “I don’t know why I felt compelled to come here with you,” he bites out, his hands leaving Elijah’s cock to run along the crease of his groin, long fingers tightening there, playing along the skin beneath Elijah’s balls, pulling against the strained tendons to draw Elijah deeper onto his cock.

“Because it’s forbidden,” Elijah moans against the side of Orlando’s mouth, licking the edge of his lip. 

“Fuck, yes,” Orlando replies, hands now in constant motion all along Elijah’s body, cupping his balls, pulling his cock, palming the head, swirling circles over his stomach, rubbing and pinching his nipples, moving everywhere, just soaking up the lean and silky softness.

“Because no one knows,” Orlando says, pumping harder now.

“That’s right.”

“Because it’s so hot and dirty.”

“Oh yeah,” Elijah sighs, biting at Orlando’s lip.

“Because we fit.”

Elijah silently crooks his arms up onto the pillow and runs both hands through Orlando’s hair.

“Sit up,” Orlando says. He needs more movement, more friction. He grabs a pillow and hands it to Elijah, who has leaned forward, thighs still splayed. Elijah places the pillow on Orlando’s knees and wraps his arms around his bent legs, resting himself against the pillow.

“Look, Orlando,” he says, motioning with his chin towards the cheval mirror standing in the corner.

Their reflection startles Orlando for a second. It’s like watching himself in a porn flick, Elijah curled hotly on top of his prone body. 

Orlando takes hold of Elijah’s hips and pushes upwards, indicating that he wants to be ridden. Elijah starts to move, throwing in a little rotating action, upper body relaxed, blue eyes fixed on Orlando through the mirror. 

Elijah’s absolutely right, Orlando thinks, taking in the curves of Elijah’s ass as he gazes at his cock sliding in and out of him, cheeks pulled wide by Orlando’s thumbs. This looks so fucking dirty and hot and feels so brilliantly incredible, their balls smudging and sliding against each other when their bodies meet. Despite his genuine attraction and growing affection for Elijah, Orlando is incredibly turned on by the fact that he is fucking a whore. He knows that Elijah would deny him nothing when it comes to acts of sex, nothing. And his mind starts to roar with forbidden images of coming all over his face, of tying him up and inserting things into him, of making him beg, knowing that Elijah would act any part Orlando demanded and after all was said and done, would smile that sly little gap-toothed grin, drop his lashes and tell Orlando he was the best fuck he’d ever had. And with that realization, with the sheer liberation of all its nasty possibilities, Orlando starts to thrust deep and hard into Elijah, gripping his hips bruisingly tight. 

Elijah doesn’t bat an eye, just keeps watching in the mirror, body being jarred as he rests on the pillow. He slides his hands down Orlando’s legs, smoothing over the hair on his shins and calves and closes them gently just above the ankles.

Orlando knows he’s going to come. He sits up quickly, grunting and panting, hands running along Elijah’s back, pulling at his shoulders, clutching around his waist, wanting to bite so badly but not wanting to hurt, wanting to spread those fucking incredible thighs open even more. 

“Oh Jesus,” he gasps, catching Elijah’s eyes in the mirror, quickly burying his face in Elijah’s back to obliterate the image, forehead to spine. Then, as if in slow motion, he unfurls back onto the mattress, thrusting up hard once, hands locked on Elijah’s hips and comes violently into him, hurling curses to the ceiling, head thrown back and spine arched and twisting. 

Elijah presses his forehead into the pillow, absolutely still save to smooth his hands over Orlando’s jerking legs. 

Orlando eventually starts to laugh, except it sounds more like sobs. His hands have dropped to the mattress and he lies with his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open, sucking in air. “Jesus fuck, you break me in half,” he gasps, before cocking one eye open and squinting down at Elijah, who is glancing back over his shoulder. “C’mere,” Orlando says softly, extending one limp hand.

Elijah lifts himself from Orlando’s lap and disentangles his legs, rolling to his side and shifting up to where Orlando has opened an arm. He settles along side him, his head on Orlando’s shoulder. They lie there silently for a bit, Elijah quietly playing with the trinkets around Orlando’s neck while Orlando lets his breathing settle. He turns on his side to face Elijah, cupping his cheek and kisses him.

“Touch yourself,” he says as their lips break away, resting his forehead against Elijah’s before pulling a little ways back. “I want to watch you bring yourself off.”

Elijah fixes his eyes on Orlando’s and raises his leg to lie across Orlando’s thigh. Without breaking his stare, he sweeps his hand behind him, collecting wetness from his ass before bringing his hand around to stroke himself, sliding his thigh off Orlando. 

“Fuck,” Orlando gasps softly, finding that the horniest and most pornographically practical thing he has maybe ever seen, and he swallows against a dry throat. 

Elijah starts to pull and work his own cock, wrist twisting over the head, fingers running down the shaft and past to cradle his balls, then back, over and over and over, variations on a theme. His eyes never leave Orlando’s, although Orlando keeps alternating between Elijah’s face and the sexy things he’s doing with his hand. Orlando so wants to wrap his own large hand right over top of Elijah’s nimble fingers, but he resists, instead resting his palm on Elijah’s hip, smoothing his fingers across the warm skin there. 

Elijah makes a fist and starts to fuck it, his lips parting and a gush of air washing over Orlando’s face. 

“God, you are so beautiful,” Orlando whispers, touching his forehead to Elijah’s. “I want you to come so hard, Lij, it fucking hurts.” 

Elijah groans up into his face, tongue spiking out to wet his lips.

“Let it go, man.” Orlando dips in and licks Elijah’s cheek. “Fly apart for me.”

Elijah tries to say Orlando’s name, but all that comes out is a jittery strung-out moan. 

Elijah’s thrusts have taken on a steady, frantic rhythm, his chin rising up, his eyes still locked onto Orlando’s. The muscle tension in his body has started to break apart so that with every upward thrust, he twitches somewhere, a foot, a knee, spasms in his spine. His eyes take on an unfocussed cast and begin to drift from Orlando’s gaze, settling a little to the side. A small keening sound comes from him. 

Orlando can’t stand it. Whispering obscenities, he slips his hand over Elijah’s and squeezes it, tightening everything down, matching Elijah’s strokes. He kisses his cheek bone, his brow, licks at his lip. “You look so gorgeous like this,” he whispers. 

Elijah’s thrusts abruptly shallow out because he’s right there….

“On me, Elijah,” Orlando tells him darkly, using his hand to angle Elijah’s. 

Elijah has only enough wit left to register Orlando’s words and comes, spattering against Orlando’s stomach, eyes rolling up before lids drop over them. His hand keeps working himself through his orgasm, his panting breath evening out. Orlando presses his lips into Elijah’s neck. “There you go,” he soothes, pressing his pelvis up against Elijah’s twitching cock and semen-stained hand, pulling him close. “There you go.” 

And wrapping his arms around him, they fall asleep this way.

*

Elijah awakens to fingers tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He’s sprawled on his stomach, legs spread to the corners of the bed, arms bunched under the pillows. The bed is empty. He cracks an eye and sees Orlando sitting on the edge, dressed and smelling of soap. 

Gray has only begun to creep into the room. It’s still an hour to day break. Elijah stirs to rise.

“Don’t get up,” Orlando murmurs, brushing a thumb over Elijah’s brow. “Money’s on the bed stand. Go back to sleep.”

“Hmmph,” Elijah huffs, smacking his lips, trying to get them to work. “I’d like to see you off.”

“It’s okay,” Orlando says. “I want you lying there to be the last thing I see.”

“Take that lotion,” Elijah mumbles absently, his eye closing, dreams pressing back in. “A memento.”

“I think it best I keep it here,” Orlando says. 

Elijah smiles against the sheet.

“Orlando.”

“Hmm.”

“Thank you.”

“Sweet dreams, dear heart.”

As Orlando leans over and kisses the side of his head, Elijah smiles again and drifts back to sleep. 

 

Later that morning, when the sound of his mobile cuts through his slumbers, he gets up. It’s Dom. Elijah tells him he’s free for a drive out of the city later in the afternoon. Turning back towards the bed stand, he fingers through the stack of bills tucked under the porcelain jar, but not before he has dipped into the silky cream it holds, so that each bill becomes slightly smeared with its quiet fragrance. He hesitates a moment, smiling at the amount, then suggests to Dom that maybe they free up a few days to take in a little sailing.


End file.
